by Shelly Ellis
It took a few minutes but they gradually dispersed.
“T. J., what the fuck did you do?” Dolla Dolla shouted, still laughing. “Why Ricky beat the shit out of you?”
T. J. didn’t respond. Instead, he continued to glare silently at Ricky, wiping at the blood on his face with the hem of his shirt. The other bodyguard tried to help him to his feet, but he angrily shoved his hand away.
“Ricky, what got into you, nigga?” Dolla asked, squinting as he approached the stairs. “You do too much coke? Got your fire up?”
“No,” Ricky said, shrugging out of the bodyguard’s grasp. He flexed his now swollen, bloodied knuckles. He gave a withering glance at T. J. “This nigga was just long overdue for an ass whuppin’. That’s all.”
“That may be. That may be.” Dolla chuckled again then abruptly stopped. His face went serious. He eyed Ricky coldly. “But nobody . . . and I mean nobody is supposed to beat anybody’s ass in my house without my permission. You know that, Ricky.”
Ricky lowered his eyes.
“Least of all beat the ass of one of my men. I can’t have that. It’s disrespectful. I don’t like it when folks are disrespectful.”
“Sorry, Dolla,” he said. “I wasn’t trying to disrespect you.”
“I’ma kill you!” T. J. growled, pausing to spit blood over the banister. He shoved himself to his feet and reached for his waistband. “I’ma kill you, bitch! I’ma shoot this—”
“Shut the fuck up!” Dolla boomed, making the young man go still and silent. “Y’all better listen! I told you nobody does shit in my house without my say so! You hear me? Now you all just better slow your roll!”
T. J. looked on the brink of tears from how incensed he was, but he kept silent like Dolla Dolla ordered.
Dolla Dolla’s eyes suddenly swung up to Simone who stood a few feet away. He pointed up at her. “Hey, don’t I know you, girl?”
She blinked then shook her head, causing her wig to whip around her shoulders. “I-I don’t think s-so,” she stuttered.
He slowly climbed the stairs and leaned against the railing, scratching his goatee. He nodded. “Yeah, I know you. I know you! I’ve seen you somewhere before but I can’t—”
“I used mess with her,” Ricky blurted out. “She used to be one of my girls a couple of years ago. I may have brought her around a few times. Or . . . or maybe you saw her at the restaurant.”
Dolla Dolla squinted and frowned at Ricky. “You messed with her? Then why she say I never met her?”
Ricky shrugged, keeping his tone blasé. “You probably didn’t. You saw her but I didn’t introduce her to you.”
Dolla Dolla’s frown deepened. His gaze returned to Simone. He still looked troubled.
“She was just a girl I used to smash, Dolla. One of many,” he continued, feeling desperate. The situation was getting dangerous again. He was feeling cornered and he could tell she was too. Her hand was shifted to her skirt. He knew she was reaching for the Smith & Wesson strapped to her thigh.
No, don’t do that. Don’t be stupid, he thought as he locked eyes with Simone.
“She’s nobody,” Ricky claimed. “Don’t worry about her, man!”
“The bitch was trying to go upstairs,” T. J. argued, holding his hand below his chin to catch the dripping blood. “She knew she couldn’t go, but she was headed up there anyway. I was trying to stop her before this motherfucka over here sucker punched me!”
“I punched you because you grabbed her,” Ricky said menacingly. “And I’d do it again!”
“So then she ain’t nobody,” Dolla Dolla murmured, tilting his head. “Because if she was ‘nobody,’ you wouldn’t have cared what the fuck he did to her. Right?”
Ricky licked his lips—at a loss for what to say. He glanced up at her again. Her hand hovered over the same spot on her leg. If he messed this up . . . if he said the wrong thing and Dolla Dolla realized he was lying and started to remember exactly where he had seen her before, they might have to shoot their way out of here.
“So you beat T. J.’s ass over some bitch?” Dolla Dolla continued, raising his bushy eyebrows. “Is that what you sayin’?”
Now put on the spot with no idea what was the right or wrong answer, with what could put both him and her at risk, Ricky decided to roll the dice. He forced a smile and shrugged. “Hey,” he drawled, “I’m drunker than a motherfucka’, Dolla! Maybe! You know how I get.”
Dolla Dolla’s frown disappeared. His wide chest started to rumble with another chuckle that erupted from his mouth like a thunderclap. He slapped Ricky jovially on the back. “You crazy, bruh! That’s why I keep your ass around.”
Ricky laughed too and inwardly sighed with relief when Simone’s hand shifted from her thigh back to her hip.
* * *
A half hour later, the party ended. Ricky hung back, letting the trickle of guests leave first. The waitresses headed out last, huddled in groups as they made their way to their cars. Simone broke off from the rest, stomping down the driveway. She walked down the gravel road where several cars were parallel parked along the shoulder. When she drew near her Nissan, he caught up with her.
“Wait up!” he shouted.
She glared over her shoulder at him and shook her head in disgust.
“Damnit, wait! We need to talk about this shit. You can’t just—”
“I have nothing to say to you!” She raised her key to press the button that would unlock her car door. She swung the driver’s side door open. He strode in front of her and slammed it shut before she could climb inside, stopping her in her tracks, catching her by surprise.
“You have nothing to say to me? After what I did in there for you?”
“After what you did?” she shouted, screwing up her face. “After what you did? Ricky, you really think you did me a fucking favor tonight, running up the stairs and beating the shit out that asshole? You think I should thank you for following me around all night, and drawing attention to me? If it wasn’t for you, I could have found my sister!”
He slammed his fist on the car roof. “Oh, come on, Simone!”
“I could be bringing her home!”
“Are you fucking kidding me? If it wasn’t for me, they could be doing a train on you right now in one of those upstairs bedrooms!” He gestured to Dolla Dolla’s McMansion in the distance. “And when they were done, they’d put a bullet in your head and dump your body!”
“I was this close,” she said, holding up her index finger and thumb like she hadn’t heard him. “This close—and you ruined it!”
He slowly shook his head. “You really are crazy, aren’t you? This shit has driven you nuts, because there is no way you could think—”
“No, you’re the crazy one,” she said, staring up at him. “You’re crazy for smiling in that son of a bitch’s face, pretending to be loyal to him when you know what he does . . . when you know who he is!”
“Just what the hell did you expect me to do? To spit in his face? To kick the damn door down and—”
“I expected you to be the man I thought you were! I didn’t need your protection! If you weren’t going to help me get the job done, then you should’ve gotten the fuck out of my way! Instead, I’m no closer now to Skylar than I was four months ago. I’m not going to thank you for that, Ricky!”
His head was pounding. His heart ached. He had done so much for this woman and it still wasn’t enough. All the anger and fight drained out of him. “Just what . . . what do you want from me?” he asked, honestly bewildered.
“Nothing,” she snapped, yanking open her car door again and climbing inside. “Not a goddamn thing! Because I was pretending to be someone I’m not tonight but you’ve been pretending for a lifetime—and you’re never gonna change! I recognize that now. As far as I’m concerned, you’re worse than he is. You’re just a criminal who doesn’t like to get his hands dirty!”
She slammed the car door and shoved her key into the ignition. Ricky stepped back when he heard her rev
the car engine. A few seconds later she pulled off and he watched her brake lights recede as she drove down the road. He watched them until they disappeared.
Chapter 28
Jamal
Jamal watched from his perch on the stool at the kitchen island as Blake hoisted a cardboard box off the floor, carefully balancing it in his arms.
Blake had been carrying out boxes and bags from Jamal’s and Bridget’s apartment for the past hour to a moving van that waited in the parking lot downstairs. The whole time the two men had studiously avoided making eye contact, pretending like they weren’t in the room together.
Good, Jamal thought as he chewed his sandwich. Because if Blake said one word to him . . . if he even sneezed in his direction, he’d probably punch him in the face. He had already broken up with Bridget; it’s not like he had anything to lose if he did hit him.
“Is this the last of it, Bridge?” Blake called over his shoulder.
“Yeah, that’s it,” she said, striding into their living room, tucking something into the tote bag on her shoulder.
“All right. I’ll take it to the van and meet you downstairs,” he called as he walked to the apartment’s opened front door.
“I’ll be down in a sec,” she called back.
It hadn’t taken Bridget long to pack all of her things. She’d yelled two nights ago that she didn’t want any of the stuff they’d purchased together during their year and a half as a couple.
“I just want my things! You hear me? My stuff. That’s it! I don’t need any of the rest of this shit!” Bridget had shouted, gesturing to their living room.
He hadn’t cared enough to argue. Besides, her taking that stance meant he got to keep all the furniture and their televisions. But she’d made one exception to her declaration; Bridget was taking their Crate & Barrel stoneware and wineglasses with her, which was why he was eating his dinner off a paper plate and drinking wine out of a Styrofoam cup. He looked up from his panini when Bridget tossed her set of keys on the granite countertop in front of him with a clang.
“I won’t be needing these anymore,” she said, dropping her hands to her hips and raising her chin defiantly.
Jamal nodded, took the keys, and tucked them into his jean pocket. “Okay.”
“Okay? Okay? That’s all you have to say to me?”
“What more am I supposed to say? You gave me your keys. You’re headed out the door.” He shrugged. “Leave me your forwarding address and I’ll send you whatever mail that comes here that’s addressed to you.”
Her freckled face flushed crimson. She balled her fists at her sides. “Fuck you, Jamal Lighty! Fuck you!”
He loudly exhaled. He could yell back at her. He could bring up that she had no right to be angry at him, considering she had cheated on him with her ex, but he figured it wasn’t worth the energy.
“Goodbye, Bridget,” he said flatly instead, then watched as she stomped to the front door and slammed it shut behind her.
He sat on the stool for another minute and surveyed his now quiet, empty living room. A few pictures of he and Bridget as a smiling couple still sat on their end tables. On the sofa was a shawl he had given her for her birthday. On the fireplace mantle were a set of pewter bookends she’d picked up for him while on a business trip in Chicago. He waited for a sense of loss or melancholy to overwhelm him, but it didn’t come. Instead he felt invigorated. His breakup with Bridget had ended one chapter, but had also opened another. He could finally try something new. He could finally take a chance.
He rose to his feet and walked into the living room. He grabbed his cell phone, which sat on one of the end tables. It was the third Saturday of the month. Derrick and Ricky likely would be meeting up for drinks at Ray’s. It would be the perfect time . . . the perfect window for Jamal to do what he’d secretly been longing to do for weeks.
Just broke up with Bridget. Really need to talk to someone.
He pressed send and waited for a text response, but his cell phone rang instead fifteen minutes later.
“Oh shit, Jay!” Melissa shouted on the other end of the line as soon as he answered the phone. “I’m so sorry to hear about you and Bridget! Are you okay?”
“I’m getting through,” he said, hoping that he sounded sad, not eager—which was how he really felt at that moment. “I’m just . . . I’m just a little shell-shocked, I guess. I mean . . . I thought we were okay.”
“Did you guys have a fight or something? What the hell happened?”
“We argued a few nights ago, and she . . . well, she admitted she cheated on me.”
“What? That bitch! I can’t believe she did that to you!”
“I just keep replaying everything in my head, wondering what happened. What did I do wrong?”
“No, you can’t do that. Don’t do that. Okay?” she insisted. “You didn’t do a damn thing! She’s the one who cheated. You didn’t cheat on her!”
“Yeah, I know. I know. It still sucks though. I’ve been trying my best not to sit around feeling sorry for myself.”
“So don’t! Get out of your apartment. Do something.”
“Easier said than done, Lissa.”
“Well, I refuse to leave you alone to a pity party. You’re going to make me drag you out tonight, aren’t you?” she joked. “Fine. I will! I’ll be at your place in a half hour. We’re doing something fun. I don’t know what that will be, but I’ll figure it out when I get there.”
Jamal grinned. Those were the words he’d been secretly waiting to hear all along. But he quickly wiped the smile off his face. Again, he knew he had to sound wistful, not excited.
“You don’t have to do that. Besides, Dee probably won’t be cool with—”
“I’ve told you a hundred times—don’t worry about him. I’m grown! Besides, he’s off doing his own thing tonight anyway! Why shouldn’t I do mine?”
Jamal didn’t know if he was projecting, but he thought he detected a flirtatious note in her voice. “Okay, well . . . if you’re down, I’m down.”
“Oh, I’m definitely down! See you in a bit!” she said, before hanging up.
Jamal gazed down at his phone for several seconds after, staring at it in awe. He was finally going to have a “date” with Melissa Stone, after all these years, after all this time.
“I gotta get ready,” he whispered, looking down at himself, at his clothes. “Shit! I’ve gotta get ready!” He then rushed down the hall to his bedroom, unbuttoning his shirt as he ran.
* * *
“Oh, my God! That was so fun!” Melissa exclaimed, trailing behind him into his living room. She shrugged out of her wool coat and handed it to him. “Come on! Admit it. You had a good time, right?”
Jamal chuckled and nodded. “Yes, I had a good time.”
He’d thought they would go out to dinner, maybe share a good meal and a bottle of wine over candlelight, but instead she had dragged him to a bowling alley. They’d spent the past two hours stuffing their faces with pizza, nachos, and waffle fries, and going head-to-head in a few rounds of bowling. Despite the unconventional setting, Jamal had thoroughly enjoyed himself, momentarily forgetting about Bridget and his drama with Mayor Johnson. He’d even been able to put aside those flare ups of guilt about being alone with Melissa. In his heart, he knew he hadn’t agreed to come out with her tonight just to ease his mind. He had finally decided to steal Derrick’s girl.
Every time she smiled at him or threw back her head and laughed at one of his jokes, he felt a spark, a charge that bounced between them. He told himself that he was the right fit for Melissa, not Derrick. Derrick had had almost twenty years to make Melissa happy, to make things work—and he still hadn’t gotten it right. She was obviously unhappy with him.
What’s that old saying, Jamal now thought as he opened the door to his coat closet and hung his and Melissa’s coats. That the definition of insanity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result.
Maybe it was finally time for M
elissa and Derrick to stop the insanity and try something different. Maybe it was finally time for her to give Jamal a chance.
“Would you like something to drink?” he asked as she sauntered to his sofa and flopped onto one of the cushions, giggling drunkenly and bouncing as she did it.
“Not unless it’s a glass of water!” She tossed her braids over her shoulder, kicked off her tennis shoes, and tucked her feet beneath her bottom. “I think I had too many beers at dinner. I’m starting to feel lightheaded!”
“A glass of water, it is.” He then opened one of the overhead cabinets and pulled out two glasses, before grabbing a pitcher from the fridge to pour water for them both.
He would’ve wanted to pour himself a whiskey or bourbon instead for what he was about to do next, but water would have to do. He took a deep breath and pushed back his shoulders, working up the courage. Jamal carried the glasses over to where she sat on the sofa. He took the spot beside her and handed her one of the glasses.
“Thanks again for making me go out tonight,” he said.
She laughed and waved a hand at him. “No problem, Jay. I just didn’t want to see you sad and stuck in here all day. I wouldn’t give the bitch the satisfaction.”
“I don’t think she cares either way. I bet she and Blake are pretty . . . well, preoccupied . . . right now,” he mumbled dryly with raised brows before taking a sip from his glass.
Melissa reached out and gave his shoulder a quick squeeze. “I’m so sorry, Jay. What she did was really fucked up. You deserve better.”
He shifted slightly and met her dark eyes. When he did, the muscles in his stomach tightened. His pulse quickened. “You think so?”
“I know so! You shouldn’t have to put up with that shit. You deserve a woman who will appreciate you, and love you for the great guy that you are.”
“You do too,” he whispered, making her squint in confusion.
“Huh?”
It’s now or never, he thought before setting down his water glass, clearing his throat, and slowly reaching out to grab her hand, clasping her soft palm in his own. The action seemed to catch her by surprise, but she didn’t pull away. He took that as a positive sign.
